


The Faraday Cage

by madlaw



Series: Moments In Time [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon Related, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 01:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7598644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madlaw/pseuds/madlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hi sweetie, come to borrow a book? Or are you checking something else out?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Faraday Cage

Hanging out at the library, Shaw’s thoughts drift to Root in the Faraday cage.  So far she’s managed to avoid seeing her, keeping extremely busy with the numbers and making a conscious effort to fight the temptation.  The boys are out dealing with a complicated mission, which requires Finch’s coding expertise and Shaw’s alone with Bear.  Telling herself it’s only to make sure Root hasn’t found a way to escape, she gets up from Harold’s desk and walks over to the cage, leaning on the door and staring at Root. 

Although Root knows she’s standing there, she doesn’t look up; keeping her eyes glued to the book she was pretending to read while secretly checking Shaw out before she walked over.  Root’s playing the long game; she just can’t forget their night together.  Shaw, fierce, relentless, intimate, generous.   She’s helpless against the memories and knows she’s running towards danger and will likely end up wounded, but she doesn’t care.  Her desire for Shaw intertwines with every thought in her head.

“I know you know I’m standing here Root.”  Shaw finally mutters.  Hearing the way Shaw enunciates her name always thrills Root.  Looking slowly up her body until their eyes meet, Root gives a knowing smile.  “Hi sweetie, come to borrow a book?  Or are you checking something else out?” Rolling her eyes and shaking her head at the glaringly obvious come-on, Shaw growls, “No.  I’m making sure you haven’t checked yourself out.”  A second before Root speaks, Shaw realizes Root can turn that remark into another overtly sexual innuendo without even trying.

Putting her book down, Root gradually lies down on her side, propping her head with one hand, a pensive look on her face.  Cocking her head at Shaw while running her hand suggestively over her breasts and bringing it to rest on her muscled abdomen, Root smiles innocently.  “Hmm, that hadn’t even occurred to me.”  It doesn’t escape Root’s notice Shaw’s eyes are no longer on hers, but rather on Root’s nipples, which hardened when Root grazed her hand over them.  “But maybe you should come in and make sure.  I’ve been told I can’t be trusted.”

“That’s an understatement,” Shaw mutters under her breath.  Walking back to the desk, Shaw searches for a zip-tie.  Root’s up to something, Shaw knows.  She’s not going to wait around for Root to put her plan in motion.  _Taser me once, shame on you; taser me twice and I’m an idiot; taser me again and I deserve what I get._ She walks back to the cage and looks at Root impassively.  “Come over here and turn around.” Smiling indulgently Root gets up and unhurriedly walks over.  “Why Sameen, I’d thought you’d never ask.”  Biting her cheek, Shaw barks, “Shut up.”

She zip-ties Root’s hands firmly to the cage’s wire mesh, unlocks the door, and steps inside.  As she searches the cage meticulously, Root watches her movements, desire evident.  Shaw’s brutally honest with herself.  She wants to touch Root.  Her body is tingling and there’s a tug in her groin she can’t deny she wants Root to push.

Not saying a word, she walks out of the cage.  Dejectedly, Root watches her go; perking up when she notices Shaw doesn’t lock the gate or bother to untie her.  She can’t turn her head, but Root hears Shaw rummaging around.  Shaw walks back and locks the gate, but stays outside.  Walking behind Root, she cuts the zip-tie, releasing her.  Unbalanced, Root’s not sure what’s going on, confused.  When Root turns around, Shaw has one hand resting on the cage, her fingers poking through the mesh, looking at Root like she’s trying to figure her out.  Questioningly, Root looks at her with a genuine smile and softly raises her hand to caress Shaw’s.  When she doesn’t pull away, Root holds her breath, waiting.  This moment may lead to something…or not.   Root knows Shaw’s skittish and the wrong move may leave her high and not so dry as Shaw retreats.

Seeming to come to a decision, Shaw brings her other hand out of her jacket pocket and slips two zip-ties through to Root.  Taking them, Root cocks her head in question, not wanting to disturb the dynamics of whatever game they’re playing.  “Go back to the bench, sit down, and zip-tie your legs, one at a time, to the middle supports of the bench,” Shaw instructs.  Since this was actually a former library, the bench is bolted to the concrete, resisting even Root’s inventive Houdini act.  The restraints will leave her with her legs spread about a foot apart and her upper body free to move, leaving space on the bench in front and behind her.

Without a word Root turns to the bench hearing Shaw say, “And Root, if they’re not tight, I’ll just turn around and leave.”  When Root’s done, Shaw unlocks the cage and steps inside, locking the cage again behind her.  Walking over to the table on the other side of the cage from the bench, she removes her gun from the small of her back and puts it down.  Taking off her jacket, she lets it fall to the floor, leaving her in her trademark black jeans and tank top.  Rapt, Root watches with a small smile.  No one makes a tank top look sexier than Shaw and her mouth waters as she observes the jeans clinging tightly to her ass, her well defined biceps flexing as she moves.

Shaw walks over and pulls on the zip-ties to make sure they’re tight and straddles the bench in front of Root, still standing.  Hands unrestrained, Root gently lays them on Shaw’s waist, looking up at her.  Without breaking eye contact, she lifts Shaw’s shirt and exposes her taut abs, using her lips to nibble like it’s the first bite of her favorite dessert.  Shaw reaches down and runs her fingers through Root’s hair gently tugging down so her head lifts.  Looking up, mouth slightly agape, Root never expected the raw want and need evident on Shaw’s face, genuine and undiluted.  Without any haste, Shaw bends down, licking Root’s lips.  Her tongue slips into Root’s mouth caressing and tasting, her hands gliding up and down Root’s sides making her shiver.  Root holds on to the belt loops on Shaw’s jeans pulling her closer and Shaw slides down to the bench, her legs pinning Root’s.

Breaking away suddenly, Shaw brings her forehead to Root’s, leaving them both gasping and clinging to each other.  As their breaths slow, Shaw purposefully starts to unbutton Root’s shirt, pushing it back over her shoulders, restraining her arms.  As Root leans back on the bench supporting herself with her hands, she follows her movement, bending forward, hands on Root’s shoulders, scraping her teeth down her neck and licking her way down her chest with long, thick strokes.  Root raises her head and loses herself in Shaw’s eyes and hears words that shake her to her core. “You taste like trouble, but your scent is like salvation; I’m not sure if you’re going to destroy me or deliver me.”

Root feels Shaw’s intensity; Root’s true self reflected in her words and like a deer in headlights she freezes.  Feeling her tense beneath her, Shaw straightens up, tugging her up lightly by her shirt, letting go once Root recovers her balance.  Their breaths loud in the silence, Shaw looks at her, “Are you okay?”  Nodding yes, Root stays silent.  “Do you want to stop?” Shaw asks.  Unsure, Root looks down, not used to lacking the words to explain her feelings.  Root and Shaw are like hydrogen and oxygen coexisting in nature, harmless.  But brought together they’re capable of exploding, leaving nothing but scorched earth in their place.  Root knows she’s capable of losing herself in Shaw like Alice through the looking glass adrift in wonderland.  Hearing Shaw sighing, she knows the next thing she’ll see is Shaw’s retreating back.

But like magic, Shaw understands without words, gently lifting Root’s chin so they’re looking at each other.  Shaw struggles with her own thoughts.   “It may be we’re lighting a fuse to an explosion we won’t be able to control.  Or it may be a sparkler, bright but burning out quickly.  I don’t know what this is Root. I don’t feel like other people feel.  But for some reason I’m still sitting here.” Smiling slightly, she gestures at the zip-ties, “Restraints notwithstanding, you can walk away if you want. I’ll mostly be relieved.  Well, not in the sexual way…” but her tone contains no rebuke as she waits for Root to answer.

“Sameen…I’m afraid this flame we’re stoking will mean something different to me than it will to you.”  Shaw decides she won’t ever lie to Root.  “I can’t promise you it will.  I do whatever and whomever I like.  Right now that’s you.  You have to decide if it’s a risk you’re willing to take.”  Shaw makes a choice in her mind and reaches behind her, pulling a switchblade from her back pocket, slicing through the zip-ties binding Root.  She leans down and deactivates the ankle bracelet as well.  Shaw backs up slightly on the bench and places the knife between them.  “What’s it going to be?  Trust?  Or do we fight for the knife and see who makes it out the door first?”

Reaching her word limit, Shaw waits somewhat impatiently.  Although Root is speechless at Shaw’s willingness to express herself, it’s completely consistent with her character.  Shaw knows what she wants and takes it.  Stress leaving her body, Root smiles seductively, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough talking to last me a while.” 

Leaning back on the bench, Root pulls Shaw on top of her.  But immediately Shaw pulls away, and Root wonders briefly if her emotional tether has snapped and she’s bolting.  But Shaw starts to take her clothes off.  Looking at Root, she gruffly points out, “You have way too many clothes on.  Off.  Now.”  Deliberately toying with her, Root refuses to rush.  After about three seconds, Shaw’s naked and has Root’s shirt and bra off, her jeans quickly on the way to her ankles.  Laughing, Root gives in and lets Shaw finish stripping her.  “Well someone’s in a hurry…”

Pulling Root into her, Shaw brings their lips together, gently tugging and licking, making it clear this is just the prologue to the play.  She takes time to study Root, like a painting in a museum, discovering depth and dimension the longer she stares.  Root’s excited and frightened by her gaze all at once, like sky-diving, wanting to jump but afraid to fall.  She lets her hands dance over Shaw’s back, like a bright and floating flame wandering down her curves, coming to rest at the small of her back. Shaw’s hands drift to Root’s breasts, her thumbs worshipping her nipples and Root gasps, feeling scorched by the heat in Shaw’s hands.  She tangles her hand in Shaw’s wavy hair and Shaw experiences a spiral of longing coursing down her body.

Shaw’s need flares, her sex aching for relief.  She guides Root’s hand down to stroke her throbbing clit.  Touching Shaw feels like coming home, a sanctuary from the outside world Root’s never had before.  Root’s touch soothes and excites Shaw simultaneously and all thought’s obliterated except her primal need.    Shaw’s gasping, her desire smoldering.  “Root…I feel like I’m burning…from the inside out.”  Shaw’s words stir urgency in Root to quench her every desire.  Clutching the nape of Shaw’s neck with one hand, Root reaches into every part of Shaw’s being entering her like a flood, raging until Shaw goes under, swept away by everything Root.  The power of the orgasm shatters Shaw’s conceptions of sexual satisfaction.  Root’s elevated her to raw pleasure, sparking a primal need to melt into her, willingly lost.  As Shaw clings to Root, ecstasy is replaced by the fear Root will consume her after all.

Catching her breath and ignoring the warning signs littering the road they’re traveling, Shaw caresses Root’s cheek with the back of her hand, the texture of her skin like a living silk.  Root props one leg on the bench, opening to Shaw like ripe fruit.  Resting one hand on the nape of her neck, Shaw reaches down using the back of her finger to stroke Root’s engorged clit.  The touch sharpens Root’s focus on the promise of release, like a prisoner from a cell.  Shaw allows Root to adjust her position for maximum pleasure and then rocks her hand in a soothing, rhythmic motion, using her wrist as a fulcrum.  At first the motion is almost imperceptible but, as the minutes pass, it intensifies, incredibly arousing but equally frustrating. 

Taking pity, Shaw slips three fingers into Root, pulling out slightly then reaching in deeper.  The climax just out of reach, Root pleads.  “Sam…please stop teasing.  I need you to let me come before I lose my mind.”  Shaw smiles wickedly.  “Who’s in a hurry now?”  But she quickens her tempo, curving her finger slightly to hit Root’s g-spot with every thrust.  Shaw uses Root’s shoulder for leverage, holding it in a bruising grip. “I love the way you react to my touch.”  Root meets Shaw’s every thrust with a force of her own, yearning coloring her eyes, frantic for an orgasm uniquely Shaw in its power.  Reaching the crescendo, Root moans and grips Shaw’s shoulders, throwing her head back, her neck straining, and her hair draping her face.  Shaw knows she’s never seen a more stunning image.  Clenching Shaw’s fingers within her, Root rides the current of electricity shooting to her center.  As the orgasm finally ebbs, Shaw slips her fingers slowly out and Root rests her chin on Shaw’s collar bone, exhaling into her skin, her breath hot and erratic.

Shaw collapses onto the bench, pulling Root with her.  Root nestles into Shaw and they lie there silently, both deep in thought.  Not exactly the most comfortable substitute for a bed, much less for sex, Shaw still drifts off, not quite sleeping but drowsy.  Her subconscious finally nudging her into alertness, Shaw realizes there’s no longer any weight resting on her body.  Not opening her eyes, she knows it’s possible Root left, but she finds herself loathe to consider it.  Resignedly looking towards the only exit, but not lifting her head, Shaw sighs disappointingly, seeing the cage’s door unlocked and open.  Knowing she has to get up and figure out how to tell Harold she let Root escape, Shaw sits up on the bench.  Ruefully, she pictures the consternation on Harold’s face when she tells him Root’s getaway was made possible by Shaw’s libido.

But as she gathers her clothes and looks towards the table where she left her gun, she finds Root asleep, sitting on a chair with her head resting on the desk, Shaw’s tank top serving as a pillow.  Shaw’s gun sits at the edge of the table, along with an unopened soda and an apple.  Relieved, Shaw also finds herself feeling something she can’t quite put a finger on.  Overwhelmed by enough introspection today, she ignores it and walks over to the table, pulling on her jeans and bra before lifting herself up to sit on the side of the table near Root’s head, running her fingers through her hair. 

Groggily, Root opens her eyes and smiles up at Shaw, “I thought you might be thirsty.”  Smirking, Shaw raises her eyebrows, “I suppose you didn’t access Harold’s laptop or talk to the machine?”  Guiltily, Root sits up and looks around, finally bringing her eyes to rest on Shaw’s.  “You never said anything about electronics, and as you can see, I’m still here.”  Serious for a moment, Root whispers, “I wouldn’t betray your trust Sam.”  Root knows Shaw hates that nickname, but she also knows Shaw likes it when Root uses it.

Brightening, her justification gaining momentum by the minute, she looks at Shaw with that knowing look on her face.  “Actually, that means I was really good and deserve a reward.”  Wearing nothing but her open shirt, she stands up and slips between Shaw’s legs.  Rolling her eyes, Shaw stops her next word with a kiss before she keeps talking and gives Shaw a headache.

Reluctantly, Root pulls away, knowing it can’t be much longer before the boys get back.  Pulling her back for what seems like the hundredth time today, Shaw deadpans, “I have many skills and you’ll need to be really quick.”  Not waiting for an answer, she bites down hard on Root’s earlobe, nibbling her way back to her mouth.  Root moans.  Shaw brings one of her hands around to rub Root’s nipple, feeling it harden under her fingers.  She lifts her onto the edge of the table and drops to her knees, draping one of Root’s legs over her muscled shoulder. 

Root’s smell is intoxicating and Shaw inhales deeply.  But she can’t linger because the clock is ticking.  She flattens her tongue and runs it from the base of Root’s sex to her swollen clit.  Her tongue flexible as a foil, Shaw finds a rhythm clearly gratifying to Root.  Before long, Root’s body tenses and her breaths become ragged.  Shaw takes her clit into her mouth, sucking gently.  A suppressed groan escapes Root’s lips and her mouth opens in a silent cry as her climax swamps her body.  Leaning into each other, they stand against the table, catching their breath.  In a completely smug tone, Root hears Shaw, “Told you I had many skills.”  Laughing, it’s Root’s turn to roll her eyes and scowl.  The attempted glare falls flat when Root can’t keep the affection from her eyes.

Shaw looks away as she beats a hasty retreat, putting on her tank top.  Unconcerned, Root puts on her own clothing, picks up her apple, and walks over to the bench.  Sitting with her legs up, a hand crossed over her knees, her head resting on them, but tilted up so she can still see Shaw, Root can write the next scene in her mind.  “Root, the sex was amazing but you need to know I don’t do relationships or feelings.”  Root wonders exactly who Shaw is trying to convince, but keeps the same affectionate look on her face, “Sweetie, I don’t recall proposing, so I think we’re safe.” 

Munching on her apple, Root continues as if Shaw’s comments were inconsequential.  “I thought you’d be hungry so I had the Machine deliver a steak sandwich and fries for you.  I left them on Harry’s desk.”  Not quite buying Root’s blasé attitude, Shaw figures time will tell.  “Uh, you know I still…” Interrupting, Root finishes Shaw’s sentence, “…have to lock me up.  I know.”  Feigning annoyance, Root pouts, “At least you should have the decency to feel a little remorse.”  Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Shaw reminds her, “I told you…I don’t do feelings Root.”  Root bends down and snaps the ankle monitor back in place, saying nothing else but watching her adoringly as she walks away, remembering how her ass felt in her hands.

When the boys get back, Shaw’s cleaning her guns, looking bored.  “I need to check on Ms. Groves,” Harold announces.  Shaw says nothing. Reese grabs Finch’s chair straddling it backwards, trying to pick at Shaw’s leftover sandwich without her noticing.  He’s not surprised when she slaps his hand away, growling, “Can you fire a gun with only four fingers?”

Looking confused and a little bit troubled, Finch returns from checking on Root.  Not sure how to frame it, he glances at Shaw.  “Trouble Finch? Shaw drawls.  “Not exactly, Ms. Groves appears to be sleeping…  Ms. Shaw, did anything untoward happen while we were away?”  Face expressionless, Shaw replies, “Not unless you count Bear stealing my fries untoward.”  His fears not allayed, Harold finally brings himself to ask what he really wants to know, “Then why is your jacket in the cage?  More to the point, why are there the remnants of zip-ties scattered about on the floor inside?”  Shaw ignores him and Reese smirks, earning himself an evil look from Shaw.

 


End file.
